A Dragons Tale
by Raxychaz
Summary: Menma in a new adventure, well. He's been doing it for a while, but now we're going to see some of the newer stuff. As the 'Dragon King' of Fereldan Menma has raised a nice little family, unfortunately. Darkspawn. So once more he must bring together a rag-tag group of individuals who catch his gaze and plough the Archdemon like his pretty


**Dragon Age X Menma. Origins first, then DA2…as soon as I find the disk for it…Found it HA! Right behind my T.V Cabinet. **

**Harem; Morrigan, Fem-Hawke, Bethany Hawke, Fem-Fenris.**

**Feel free to add whomever.**

**What Class do you want Hawke to be, Mage, Warrior or a combo. Rogues will be chock a fuckin' block in this group already so hmm.**

**Also, do we want alive Carver or not.**

**And finally Do we want a lemon with the Lady of the Forest? Or Witherfang whatever you wanna call her.**

**Alistair will not be a Grey Warden in this, instead he will be akin to a Templar and Death Knight and was trained under Menma while specializing in neutralizing magic and mages alike, though can also freely use a small portion of Menma's monolithic power.**

Gather round friends, for I shall spin you a tale, a tale of great Queen Moira, and her husband, the Dragon King Menma, though their tale together is a short one, the great King, would carry onward his beloved wife's long legacy.

A gorgeous blonde haired woman lay in her bed a figure that could make even Andraste green with envy, she had healthily tanned skin, a few freckles dotting her full cheeks, and though they were closed her eyes shined like the morning sun, warm and golden.

There was another, which lay with her, t'was her husband. His long white hair that faded to flaming red at the ends, his skin held a slight, almost invisible grey tint; his nails were sharp, and deadly, while his teeth matched them, the only difference being the colour of inky blackness, and shining ivory.

His body was strong, as were his arms that currently were wrapped around his wife, her head cradled in the crook of his neck, and her breath, tickling against his naturally cold skin, flawless skin that was only marred by a triplet of scars over his left eye.

"It's time to wake up, Moira." He whispered, keeping his eyes closed, as he nudged his wife gently, she stirred only to bury herself deeper into the embrace.

"Not yet…I'm exhausted…" she pleaded, the Dragon King, smiled gently, his features lighting up slightly, Menma raised his hand and ran his fingers through her hair.

"The Orlesians won't trouble you or Fereldan any longer…I suppose I can let you sleep." He chuckled lightly opening his eyes, all black except for a pair of wide, slit burning orange pupils. They connected with the sun soaking in the light before it all seemed to collapse around him.

"Grandfather, wake up!" said a familiar voice, Menma jostled in his sleep, raising up and blinking quickly his body lined in a thin sheen of sweat, at the door stood his Grandson, Cailan, current King of Fereldan, he didn't want the title if he couldn't have Moira.

Menma looked at his Grandson, he shared the same colour hair with his Grandmother, thought his was much shorter, falling to his shoulders, he was donned in shining gold armour, a large claymore on his back, resting firming in a leather holster, he was a youthful adult male, bright eyed and always wanting to hear more of his Grandfather's tales.

"Good morning Cailan…" greeted Menma, his body remained the same; he could pass off as a man in his mid-twenties, without a doubt before his eyebrow quirked "Where is Alistair? I assumed he would be with you." Said Menma as he got out of bed and walked into his dresser.

His room was simple, though he had a walk in wardrobe, it held only a few articles of clothing, and he usually would just unseal his armours or bring out his robes, though today he chose to wear his Justice Bearer armour, while keeping the plate woven hood down, and slipping the faceguard onto his belt for the time being.

Menma walked back out and Cailan answered him "No, Brother has chosen to go and visit Eamon, says its 'imperative to his training' bah." Said the happy blonde, Menma chuckled a deep rumbling noise that came from his chest, Cailan smiled brightly, at the sight of his Grandfather laughing, it wasn't any sort of secret that his Grandfather was a Dragon whom would outlive all in their line.

Some context for the readers? Menma had appeared in Fereldan during the time of the Orlesian occupation, he and Queen Moira had rallied Fereldan's all over to push back the basically-French bastards and with the help of their son, Marric it was made a reality. The pair had fallen deeply in love, and even though it was during 20 years of war, Menma could honestly say it was a total blast.

Marric had a son of his own, two in fact, Cailan and Alistair, though the latter enjoyed travelling around Fereldan, visiting places to keep himself grounded with the people, Cailan and Anora, the current Queen, kept on the more official side of things.

Though if any were to ask the Dragon, it was _he_ who kept Fereldan running like a well-oiled machine, not the snobby _Queen_, he didn't like Anora. She was so far up her own ass it was ridiculous, while she thought of Cailan as more of a little boy-toy, which infuriated Menma to no end.

Menma had been taking care of Cailan and Alistair since they were young, since Marric had gone missing, during a trip at sea, Menma mourned the loss of his son, yes a loss. Because he could no longer feel the Signature of his child, it broke his heart when both his love and his son had left him.

He was a lot more…sedated, man that he once was. Not to say he wouldn't go ballistic if he didn't kill something on a semi-regular basis, but his old gusto and rage had all but left him.

Except for the fact he still kept his bastard-brother inside his Dark Realm and had Blood torture him on a daily basis, speaking of there was this one time Blood had decided to turn Naruto into Naruko…it was a weird 24 hours.

Blood wouldn't stop gloating about how long Naruto shut up after that, a whole month. Menma didn't want, nor care, to know.

"Well, I suppose you will be off to Ostigar soon yes?" asked Menma, the Dragon had in fact just returned from visiting a few friends among the Qunari, followers of the Qun. While he was there he used his more…outdoors, form. His horns came out, his skin turned a darker grey, his muscles expanded and his height changed to an even taller 6' 10", he was quite readily accepted by the Arishok and was considered Basalit-An, an Honourable Thing. It was about the best an outsider could get in terms of endearment from Qunari.

"Indeed, and remember what I asked. Don't swoop in and destroy the horde there and then, I would like for some stories about myself, instead of just my 'Mighty Grandfather'." Said Cailan, pointing directly at his Grandfather with a narrowed gaze.

Menma chuckled and nodded "I wouldn't anyway. I have faith in your abilities Cailan. Though…I will admit, I do not trust Loghain. Whether he was a close friend of my son or not, he is too…dark, his heart reeks of it."

"I'll take it into consideration Grandfather, but I must say you are being slightly worrying." Said Calen, he and his 'Old Man' as Alistair would say, cheeky brat he was, made their way through the castle and onto the streets of Denerim.

"Good, a ruler needs a healthy dose of paranoia to make sure that they come up with secondary plans for everything." Said Menma, with a chuckle as Shadowmourne appeared on his back, the cape he wore flowing up and shifting into a black metal sheath.

"Your magics always astound and confuse me, Grandfather." Said Calen, distantly as he looked at his Grandfathers strange sword, Shadowmourne, he was always told _never_ to touch it, or else the blade would devour his soul.

It wouldn't really…

Right?

Menma slapped Calen's hand; it hadn't even lifted yet "Don't touch the sword, Calen." Said Menma, boredly, his Grandson sighing, a chuckle was heard from the right, a man with tanned skin, dark hair and a well-crafted beard, his eyes were a dark brown yet spoke of experience and strength, while his armour was akin to battle robes, a sword and dagger lay strapped over his back.

"Duncan, a pleasure as always." Said Menma, offering his gloved hand, Duncan smiled and took it.

"As you, Your Majesty, King Calen it is good to see you. I just wanted to inform you that I will be collecting a few recruits for the Wardens, before I head to Ostigar." Said Duncan, Calen nodded and smiled brightly, the prospect of riding with the Wardens always brought him a sense of excitement.

A low rumble echoed behind Menma he turned to see his mount and pet wyvern, Simon "Hello buddy, how are you!" he greeted in a 'Puppy voice' that everyone seemed to get when talking with their pets.

Simon rumbled, something akin to a purr as its rider rubbed its head, the creature was shaped like a strong, reptilian quadruped, it had four fan like protrusions from the corners of its neck that would flare when it was mad or trying to intimidate, Simon also was garbed in light yet highly durable steel grey armour, as Menma mounted his pet a few lines of dark purple began to slide along with armour, matching his own Justice Bearer set.

"I'll see you when I see you Calen, I'm going to collect Alistair...Duncan you are heading off to collect recruits yes? Would you care to travel with me for some of the way…I'm sure your young elven friend here would enjoy seeing a few of the tricks I can do anyway." He said with an almost childlike glee, it was a long time since he'd been in a war, and with the Blight on the way, oh-ho-ho he was pumped!

The 'elven friend' Menma had spoken of was a young woman in fact, she was lithe of body and modest of figure, but her eyes were sharp and alert, the colour of tea-leaves, while her ebony black hair was kept in a ponytail, her skin was slightly tanned and she was clothed in light leathers, a pair of daggers strapped to her hip, she had the typical tomboy glare on her face, though it clearly eased up around the royal pair.

It may have had something to do with the zero-tolerance clause he enforced, it was simple. Be racist to your elven neighbours, you get the shit beaten out of you. It varied from a slight swat up the back of the head for the back-handed comments to bloody pulp for refusing to sell, or overcharging.

The Alienage was refurbished recently due to his Clones and life inside had gotten much better for the elves.

Duncan looked at his companion who shrugged and he smiled once more "It would be a pleasure, your Majesty allow me to introduce, Ophelia Surana." Menma slid of his wyvern and took her hand laying a small kiss over her gloved backhand; the elf looked abashed and smiled shyly.

"A pleasure to meet you, milady." He said with a smile on his face, Calen rolled his eyes at his Grandfather before walking off to get his horse, and make leave for Ostigar.

"Do you both have mounts?" Duncan shook his head; never did he truly care to keep a horse or beast of burden Menma tsk'ed lightly at the old Wardens known attitude towards mounts before signalling for a stable boy.

"Y-yes sir?" asked the boy, Menma chuckled at his stutter and ruffled the kid's hair.

"Would you please retrieve two horses for our friends here, there's a sovereign in it for you." Offered Menma, the boy was off in a flash and back with two strong looking horses one was a dark brown, while the other was black and white, both had long combed manes.

Menma grinned and pat the boys head, sliding a single golden coin into the boy's hands. One gold coin was worth one-hundred silvers, and one silver was worth one-hundred copper coins. So basically he'd just given the young lad something worth more than his father's salary for half a year.

Ophelia and Duncan got onto their horses and Menma on his wyvern, Simon roared loudly as he darted out of the gates. The horses neighing and following behind, many waved as the Dragon King passed them, children clapped and women swooned.

It was a well-known fact that Menma was not human, elf or dwarf. Yet none of Denerim cared due to the fact that without him, they doubt any would even be here, the Rebel Queen was a mighty battle-maiden, but they shivered at the thought should the 'Great Dragon' nod had come along.

He snapped the reins, Simon giving another bellowing roar and broke into a quick run, the horses following easily; another improvement Menma had made to Denerim was the livestock, infusing all of them with Chakra, boosting the benefits from eating of the cows, chickens etc. And the muscular power of their horses legs.

**Lake Calenhad**

They rode and rode, until the night came upon them, progress had been made quite quickly and they found themselves at Lake Calenhad, the place of the Circle Tower, Menma looked up the giant black spire and frowned deeply, his loathing for this place, and a the Chantry itself, was not public knowledge, but it ran deep.

The fact that people of this land where so fearful of Magic, and all its gifts, annoyed him greatly, but the Chantry had so much control of the populace he had to remain silent at the moment, until some point came where the fools were thrown off their pedestal.

A rustle caught his attention from behind, Menma's ears twitched, hastily he looked to Duncan, who seemed to be sensing something, and with a small nod the aged Warden led his charge away, while Menma subtly rendered an invisible barrier up.

He was at the top of the steep but small incline towards the shoreline, Menma leapt of Simon, Shadowmourne flying into his hands, while he lifted his faceplate and hood, the eyes that looked through them glowing a deep silver "Come hither, fools and die." Ordered Menma, he got his wish several high-pitched screeches resounded while a low rumble echoed throughout the area.

Simon's neck-fans flared and shook dangerously, a stream of fire leaving his nostrils this was his own way of displaying himself as a threat, the cute little draconian that he was, a pair of lanky but tall creatures shot from the small line of bushes, both of them had rat-like heads and digitigrade legs, a pair of long blades protruding from their bracers and thick black leather armour covering their bodies.

These were Shriek's Darkspawn assassin's essentially, Menma lazily brought up his blade and parried one strike from one Shriek while batting the others away with a gloved hand, it was sent tumbling onto the ground, Simon leapt at the downed one his thick claws tearing through its armour and flesh with surgical ease.

The remaining one found itself in a slight bind, literally, vines shot from the ground and strung it up, like a hanged man, before that low roar resounded once more, Menma turned slightly to see the sight of a Darkspawn Ogre, it was a lumbering ugly mother fucker, dark purple skin with arms and legs the size of tree stumps, it nails were dirty and clawed while the back of its head held four twisted and demonic looking horns, its face held no nose, but still had beady black eyes and rotten looking teeth, over its forearms, shins and chest was thick dark grey plates.

Menma looked at it in amusement, truly adorable to think it could even intimidate him "…" silent contemplation passed over him as it roared even louder, spittle and mucus flying from its maw and onto the ground, the Multi-class being rose his hand, in it gathered a swirl of Holy Light, "_Exorcism_" he mumbled lightly, and in the blink of an eye a large gaping hole appeared in the Ogre's chest, residual Light floating around the wound, though what surprised him though was that the Ogre didn't die.

"How interesting…" he said, his eyes widened slightly under his hood, it seemed the only way to kill it was to harm or all out destroy the brain. Thunderfury materialised beside him, holding his hand aloft he waited for the Ogre to get closer, Simon lay down his head resting on his forepaws, with a flick of his wrist Menma sent Thunderfury forwards, the lightning coating the blade flared to ridiculous levels and pierced the Ogre's skull.

An explosion of blood and gore followed, Menma threw back his head and gave a great "_**Fuck YES!**_" throwing his arms up and cheering, the bloodlust that had been burnt into his DNA running rampant with glee, Menma turned to Simon and threw him into the air, the wyvern screeching in distress until his master caught him and spun the draconic-dog-ish creature around Simon wriggled from his masters grasp and tumbled along the ground.

The black blood of the Darkspawn oozed into the ground, tainting the grass, Menma sighed. His joy cut short as he felt the sting of taint, with a glare towards the charred ground he threw an orb of green, it literally enflamed the ground in an emerald blaze.

The taint was burnt away, Menma turned to the sky the night had come, and risen high. He looked to Simon who was stretching out, and shook himself loose of any tension, lying on the ground so his master could get on the saddle "To Redcliffe Castle, dear Simon." He ordered jumping up to the saddle and snapping the reign; Simon roared and began flying across the land like a zephyr.

**Redcliffe, Next Day**.

Menma arrived at the settlement of Redcliffe it was called as such due to the blood red clay underneath the keep, the Dragon liked the area, especially Eamon, his presence was always a good thing, and Alistair took a shine to the man as well when he was young he was even so bold as to call him Uncle Eamon, once. The Arl didn't mind so he kept doing it.

The purple clad Death Knight/Paladin pat his wyverns head as he dismounted, the gates within walking distance, Simon followed his master at a rather sedated place, quite tired from running all night. Some may call Menma cruel but he was keeping the beastie in shape, a night-long run wasn't any harm.

The gates were open so he could walk right in; Simon found a quiet spot in the corner and collapsed against the ground, snoring loudly, the snores coming out as weird screeches and growls. Much to the mirth of the Dragon.

A draft hit his nose and Menma's ears twitched, "I smell…death." He murmured quietly, tossing a seal clad Kunai next to the snoring wyvern a barrier was erected that covered him in golden safety, Menma withdrew Shadowmourne and ascended the dozen or so steps to the keep's main entrance, kicking the door in he was greeted by the sight of a corpse, a walking corpse, somehow heavily decomposed and lofting a sword and shield, the shield bearing the crest of Redcliffe, Menma's eyes shot wide before his fist knocked the undead's head off his neck, sending it to the ground, dead once more.

"What in the name of the Light, Elune and Cenarius is going on." He murmured, he may be a Patron himself, but he still held respect for the Moon Goddess and her son, whom he'd met actually, quite the lock of horns initially but they came to a gentlemen's agreement of how nature worked. Predators hunted weak, and sometimes Dragons just ran around fuckin' shit up.

He briskly made his way towards the main hall and was annoyed and surprised at the sight of his Grandson, whose eyes were heavily glazed over a sign of hypnosis, along with the Arlessa, and several guards.

"Who dares enter my castle!" snarled a voice; this resonated from Connor, Arl Eamon's son. The Arlessa seemed to be the only one in control of herself "I cannot see, Mother. Who is it!?" The boy ordered his voice twisted and layered.

The woman looked at Menma and her eyes shimmered with hope "It is the Dragon King, Connor. Grandfather Menma, as you call him." She said sedately, trying her best to stop the tears of relief.

"Dragon, pah! Dragon my eye." Said Connor, the veins around his neck and cheeks were very pronounce, while his eyes glowed a sickly purple, Menma's glowing gaze became steel, and in the flash of a blink he held his hands around the boy throat and hissed lowly.

"Desire Demon. Get. Out." He ordered the boys eyes widened in terror the vision of a whore-ish demon appeared at the forefront of his mind, his sword hand stake Shadowmourne into the ground, as chains leapt from the stone floor and stilled the guardsmen and his Grandson, whom seemed to be coming 'round.

Menma's now free hand lifted up to the boy's forehead, and his index finger flowing with golden flames "**Purge.**" He mumbled, nary more than a whisper, the Arlessa did not hear it, but the guardsmen's bodies collapsed as the demonic influence left them.

"Old man!? How…Where in the makers name am I?" spluttered out Alistair the young man befuddled at the sight of his Grandfather, and more so at the sight of his ascendants flaming hand.

A wave of energy poured out of Menma it was a bright golden in colour, with flecks of deadly purple. The image of the demon whore began to char and burn as light enveloped Connors body, and another form was shot from him, landing on the floor it was what remained of the burning demon.

"_Mercy!.._" she pleaded, struggling out the words as her throat became enflamed, Menma placed the boy in his mother's arms and turned sharply, pointing a finger at the demon and saying.

"You deserve no mercy." Once more his voice was only just above a whisper, an arrow of fire shot from his finger and pierced her skull, an instant death.

Menma sighed and removed his hood and faceplate, before turning to his stunned Grandson "Now how the _fuck_ did you get caught in a _whore's_ hypnosis." His tongue switching from common to Orcish, something he'd taught Alistair a little, much to the chagrin of Marric.

Alistair's only response was to chuckle sheepishly and scratch the back of his head. Menma frowned visibly.

**End of chapter.**

**Just to make it clear, I will still have the trip up to Haven and all that debacle over the 'Real Andraste' as it was one of my favourite quests, idk why just was. **

**And another quick insert, Duncan and Ophelia were **_**staying**_** at Lake Calenhad, as it was dark and there is an Inn. They didn't run off to collect the Mage, she/he is already at Ostigar.**

**Holy shit I just got the greatest idea evar.**

_**Raxychaz!**_


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